


kiss with(out) a fist

by athens7



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (really it'll make more sense if you have actually read EMPT already), Character Study, Humor, I also blame my recent rewatch of Granada's EMPT, M/M, Meta, Romance, end of hiatus, overabundance of EMPT references almost to the point of plagiarism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athens7/pseuds/athens7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An angst-free, faithful-to-Canon take on the end of the Hiatus. Because, as much as I love long, drawn-out reunion fics and men punching each other in the face like any other respectable fangirl, sometimes making-out is much more preferable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss with(out) a fist

**Author's Note:**

> This little silly piece was born out of instinctive reaction to my reading for the hundredth time the hundredth "John punches Sherlock in the face as soon as he sees him again" scene. Nothing wrong with that kind of scene, there are some pretty wonderful takes on it out there, but after a while it can become a little bit tiresome, especially if you compare it to the violence-less, adorably fluffy way the reunion goes in the original stories. Hope you'll enjoy!

“How am I supposed to trust you with my health if you can’t even care properly for your working environment! Really, look at the state of this place! Look at that library, so neglected! With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks so untidy!”  
When John Watson turns away from the afore-mentioned article of furniture to look again at the hunchbacked, hoarse-voiced, all in all absolutely maddening hypochondriac currently occupying the chair on the other side of his desk in his office, what he finds instead is Sherlock Holmes, just finishing to shed away the last few remnants of his disguise.  


"Really, John, I didn't even bother to lighten my tone of voice, one would think you'd learned one trick or two by now", he says.  
Then he smiles, bordering just on the last acceptable inch of the right side of manic; he raises his chin and puts his hands in his trousers' pockets, balancing just a tiny bit on his heels. He waits.  


John looks at him. Then looks harder, his lips parting and his eyes widening as if finally accepting the physical evidence before him. He circles his desk, slowly, his limp lessening with every step and finally disappearing completely by the time he's coming to stand before Sherlock. Between them, only air and the smell of antiseptic and the echoes of a three-year-- _oh, come on, it's actually been only two years and nine months, what is this obsession everyone has with the allegedly perfect number_ \--ahem, a _three-year_ long hiatus already growing fainter with each passing second. Because time heals all wounds, but sometimes, when it’s about things that are very very good, or alternatively very very bad, it takes less than a second for everything to change, and for forgiveness to be given.  


John takes a deep breath, leans backwards slightly, as if trying to gather some momentum; his right arm begins to rise.  
Sherlock braces for the hit -- _yes exactly because this way it'll hurt more so we're going for scenario number two, John, oh well it’s indeed preferable to number one (i.e. total lack of recognition and/or being thrown out like a stray dog) nobody's perfect I suppose and for all your many glorious breathtaking exceptions you remain an average human being_ \-- , and then John's hand is gripping his hair, right at his nape, and Sherlock is being pulled forward, downward, and then John is kissing him.

Oh. _Oh._

Difficult to say whose arms go first around whose body after that, but for once in his lifetime Sherlock decides to be indulgent with himself and not to give. a single. _fuck_.  
And then it's good and it's fast and it's wet and it's hard and it's messy and it’s sloppy and full of teeth clashing and recalculations of trajectory and adjustments of height difference and everything and anything a first kiss should be, and most of all it's _good_.  


"You know, for a moment there I actually thought you were going to punch me", Sherlock whispers after (?) (five minutes? five seconds? five years?) against John’s deliciously reddened lips, the both of them half-sitting half-reclining on John’s desk.  
"You know what? So did I. But then I asked myself, 'what _for_ '? And I realized that however much I wanted to punch you, I actually wanted to kiss you more."  
"Hmmm. I like it when you follow your instinct. You should do it more often."  
"And now I want you to tell me how you did it."  
So Sherlock does.  
"Are you not angry, then?", he asks at the end of his _‘how to successfully fake your death with a rubber ball and a ballpoint pen’_ lecture.  
"Well, of course I am. ‘Furious with the rage of a thousand suns’, is actually more like it . But you are here now, and that's all that counts, right? As long as you never do it again."  
"I don't think I'll ever have the strength to die again. We'll just have to finally find and synthesize the philosopher's stone, I can't think of any other feasible solutions."  
"Fine for me."  
"For now, there’s Moriarty’s last man standing to take care of. I set a trap for him, just like a _shikari_ with a tiger. Wanna come?"  
"Will it be dangerous?"  
"Most certainly."  
"Oh god, yes."  
 _Ah, Watson! Just like old times._  
And that's all there is to say, really.

**Author's Note:**

> The second-to-last line is an actual quote from Conan Doyle's "Empty House".


End file.
